


Riddling for Mettle

by TexasDreamer01



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU - Book Canon Divergence, Bilbo is So Done, Book/Movie Canon Blending, Other, bilbo likes food - he does not like BEING food, he's a little stressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingers dug into him, fierce and thin. He would have yelled, if he could, if his lungs hadn't felt seized of air for fear. Though his heart thundered, it was no match for the screech - victorious, hungry, angry - of the creature latched onto him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riddling for Mettle

**Author's Note:**

> A big What If - what if Gollum caught Bilbo, when he put the ring on? What if his escape from the Goblin lair had not left him as unscathed as it did? What if riddles and luck weren't enough to survive?
> 
> The first part is a direct quotation of the scene I draw from, in chapter five. The title is based off the chapter's one, as well (Riddles in the Dark).
> 
> The Hobbit is available online at [ae-lib](http://www.ae-lib.org.ua/texts-c/tolkien__the_hobbit__en.htm), and a bunch of fans put together a transcript (complete with screenshots!) of AUJ on [Google Docs](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WSLu9yYZZk55wi4PgZ904qC2eaHMw-e3jhpGjNGWJMs/edit?hl=en&forcehl=1&pli=1).

 

> "What has it got in its pocketses?" he heard the hiss loud behind him, and the splash as Gollum leapt from his boat.
> 
> "What have I, I wonder?" he said to himself, as he panted and stumbled along. He put his left hand in his pocket. The ring felt very cold as it quietly slipped on to his groping forefinger.
> 
> The hiss was close behind him. He turned now and saw Gollum's eyes like small green lamps coming up the slope. Terrified he tried to run faster, but suddenly he struck his toes on a snag in the floor, and fell flat with his little sword under him.
> 
> In a moment Gollum was on him. But before Bilbo could do anything, recover his breath, pick himself up, or wave his sword, -

Fingers dug into him, fierce and thin. He would have yelled, if he could, if his lungs hadn't felt seized of air for fear. Though his heart thundered, it was no match for the screech - victorious, hungry, angry - of the creature latched onto him. It was paralyzing, down to the tips of his furred toes.

"Baggins-thief," Gollum crooned. It was not enough for him to simply eat, no. This... this not-goblin, Mr Bilbo Baggins, had stolen from him his gift. That slight alone was not one to be taken lightly. So instead he felt the mood pass to play. And, oh, was he hungry, now, "You stole my lostes, did ye not? Took precious' gift, right under our nose. Clever, clever Bagginses."

Bilbo sucked in a breath, catching raggedly. _No, no no_ , It would not end here, it would not! Whatever he had found, whatever had made him fruitlessly invisible, was valuable. And if this dark thing would eat him for it, then be damned if he gave Gollum the twisted thing it most wanted - no matter how well a match they made. Not even the rough, dragging grasp that tore the exposed skin of his shins and felt to have left bloody trails was enough to change his mind. Such foulness he didn't have the heart to reward.

A shred of luck appeared to stay with him, for his fingertips hooked on a quillon. Its metallic clanging on the damp and rank stone ground was muffled by his own weary body. Despite his tacit efforts, they went unnoticed, absorbed as his captor - and possible murderer, though Bilbo shoved the thought away as best his fluttering heart could muster - was with muttering to itself. He supposed he ought to be grateful, irritation flaring up, regardless, that meshed with the cold greyness the world had become for him.

"Fresh food it is," Gollum crowed, stumbling in his eagerness to carry the prize back to his current, dank, abode, "My precious shall eats, yes. It is not fishes, it is not goblins. We ssshall eatss."

Groaning at the press of nails through his ragged clothes, Bilbo made not another word, desperate to upkeep his spontaneous ruse. This game was nothing like what he played as a young Hobbit, nor what his fauntling cousins plied when he ventured from his smial. He knew not what to expect. Still, his fingers curled, negotiated, to grasp in a white-knuckled way on the hilt of the sword that was once the possession of trolls. It provided no light, hidden as it was; a back-handed blessing, for while he couldn't see more than what gouged his clothes and body, neither could the hunchbacked riddler discover that his prey wasn't as dead as could be imagined.

Long moments after - spent with his mind buzzing in fear and hodge-podge, half-formed plans - the fingers left his back. The edge of the underground shore met his face, eclipsing almost to his nose, and he shuddered out a silent breath, careful not to accidentally drown himself with a thoughtless inhale. It was a close thing, and he suffered the pleasure of hearing the creature pad around the dank chamber, "My precious shall eatsss today. No fishes, boring fishes! We are tired of fishes, yes, and goblins. Bagginses is small, not like those nasty things! Iss it soft, iss it juicy?"

For whatever reason, the knowledge that its ring was exactly where it knew it was - even if on Bilbo - had satisfied Gollum, left the Hobbit alone and unsearched, presumably half-dead. This proved to be its mistake, and one Bilbo took with undisguised relief. Save for a breath that needed to suffice as a prayer of thanks, he rolled, the motion smoothly carrying him to his feet.

His feet had led him, and he was content to let them, too busy churning over the fear roiling low in his stomach and weighting it as easily as a ball of lead. A new passage revealed itself; he took it, sprinting down the corridor as a wretched wail rose and echoed around him in terrible cadence. It quickly rose into a shriek that set his nerves afire in terror, the sound spurring his feet on ever faster in a pounding series of thumps that had Bilbo slipping and clawing at the walls to the beat of his thundering heart.

As it was, Bilbo almost missed the commotion. It clashed with the echoes of rage and despair that dogged him; for once, he forced the curiosity away, too concerned with making it out alive. There were no guards - what looked to be a table had the air of being quickly abandoned, a door leaking a thin trail of sunlight onto the abandoned spot to reveal knocked over stools and barrels one could have used to perch upon. He paid it no mind, sprinting to the door before the nightmare he found in the cavern below could think to follow even here. Despite his desperation, the stone door refused to budge, and he choked on a frustrated sob, throwing himself against it. Not even an inch could be coaxed roughly from it; Bilbo scrabbled, buttons jamming themselves in the door post, only to wedge himself awkwardly into the gap.

He pounded at it futilely. It was just as well, for an errant goblin stormed in - perhaps to search for whatever made the ruckus Bilbo hadn't bothered to pay attention to - and raised a cry, "There is a shadow by the door. Something is outside!"

The words renewed his attempts ferociously, and with the sound of numerous brass buttons clanging to the ground, he scrambled out the door.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo ran. The crush of leaves and branches was the only accompaniment to the rapid cycling of air through his lungs and the thrum of an oncoming headache that seemed to drain itself through his legs and feet. He found that he couldn't bother with the passing of time, the urge to get as far away as possible drumming a harsh tattoo into the back of his skull. It wasn't until minutes stretched long enough for an hour that his nervous energy petered off, leaving him gasping against a tree, the bark worsening scrapes on his face that he'd been unaware of before. A short grimace, wiping a dirty and cut sleeve across his face.

Some noise broke the respite, and Bilbo twitched, hand on the pommel of his Elven sword before his mind registered his own actions - there was nothing there, but it succeeded in retrieving the veil of panic that had clouded his thoughts before. His breath caught, and he was off again with the push of unwillingness to be caught.

It was at a much slower pace than before, forced as he was into loping and scrambling over roots and stones that gave the impression of being determined to trip him up and leave him at the mercy of whomever might have been pursuing him. Exhaustion wore on him, amplifying every ache and pain; Bilbo's lungs burned, loathe as he was to stop. Sounds were dulled, as if cloth had been stuffed into his ears to muffle all the sounds, and it was too soon that a root was treacherously too far out. There was breath enough to curse in Hobbitish, frustration and the sticky webs of fear clinging to his addled mind as he righted himself.

Abruptly, there was a sword swinging near him; Bilbo reacted, swinging his own in front of him shakily, grip firm only from the memories running through his mind of what he had left what seemed only moments prior. It clanged with the one in front of him, inciting a flurry of movement that he had no hope of keeping up with, pinwheeling backwards only to trip over the same root that betrayed his presence.

"Who goes there?" The sharp command, coached in a deep voice, punched the breath out of him and drug his mind into the present. He staggered, shoving the ring off his finger to hide reflexively in his knotted fist - gasps met the action, and various exclamations. Raising his hands to wave off the onslaught, and realising too late that he still held his sword, dropping it with a half-fling as if it scalded him, Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the speaker, "And where have you been, Burglar? One would think you were half-way to the Elves in Rivendell by now."

He gaped. Then all of a sudden anger welled up in him, and Bilbo sputtered, stumbling to his feet, "E-excuse me?!" His tone made it obvious what his manners - even now - forbid him from saying: _How dare you._ The searing tone forced the Dwarf to step back; he followed, eating up the space between them until he was within arm's reach, something he made use of to poke the other square in the chest. The feel of a real, living being rattled something loose. Comfort, in a raw, unadulterated form. Bilbo's knees felt a little weak at it, but he forced himself not to stumble, not to cling and let that warmth in all its surly gruffness soak into him. Those wide blue eyes were starting to narrow again, and he pounced on his chance before it was too late with another rough jab of his finger (Yavanna, how was that hurting, too?), "Just because I was _accidentally_ separated from you, does not mean I was off gallivanting to who knows where. Something almost _ate_ me, I'll have you know, so you can just- just shove it! I signed that contract, and I do not give my word lightly, no matter how much you would rather I leave your sight!"

Despite the crass words, and the weight it took off his chest, the relief was bitter and ill-won. Bilbo exhaled roughly, about to stomp off - or rather, away - when his eyes caught the light glinting off his sword. Harrumphing, he shook his head minutely, picking it up off the ground and re-sheathing the weapon. He had learned well from his encounter in the cave, and valued the gifted blade for the protection it provided.

A hand stayed him. Bilbo's heart stuttered, but whatever hopes he had were dashed, for the one who raised their eyebrows at him was Balin. A flush filtered onto his cheeks, "Ah, now, what matters is that you're here," The elder Dwarf soothed, words tempered by the pleased smile on his face. His shoulders dropped an inch at the expression, "And you look a right mess! Come, let Óin take a look at you."

He nodded at the old Dwarf, then nodded again, this time more sure. A tired chuckle escaped him, and Bilbo rocked back on his heels - for a moment, looking nothing more than a simple gentlehobbit, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat as if there weren't numerous scratches wherever skin bared itself and blood trickling sluggishly down his legs from the deeper ones. It was a bewildering sight, one that caused a few of the Company to raise their brows and exchange glances. The Hobbit, for his part, barely spared them a glance, letting a bemused smile pull at his features - grimacing good-naturedly when the minute pieces of bark from his earlier brief rest dug itself into the gash on his cheek, "I suppose I do, don't I?"

Balin responded with a low laugh, herding him over to the healer with all the mannerisms of one used to dealing with unwilling Dwarves. Footsteps padding away from earshot, Bilbo sank onto the nearest seat at the old healer's expectant look - a stone jutting from the earth near the copse of trees surrounding them - leaning back to calm the last remnants of his pounding heart. There was copious amounts of glaring and muttered scolding as Óin tended to him; Bilbo bore it quietly, content to let the words wash away the memories of sibilant ones picking at the edges of his mind. Jars opening, the burn of alcohol debriding his wounds, cool fingers slathering medicine on his aching extremities... he let it lull him, feeling the terror eking out with each beat of his calming heart to the gravelly tones of Khuzdul.

A light sigh escaped him at the compression of bandages winding themselves around his legs and a few of the worst-off fingers, letting his head be turned docilely, eyes finally closing in slumber at the press of calloused fingers against his cheek.


End file.
